


Return of Son of Watson’s Woes, part deux

by NairobiWonders



Series: 2019 JWP [1]
Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: AU, Border Crossing, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Joanlock - Freeform, Mexican Holmes And Watson, Nanny Watkins, Young Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, fic prompts, spanish language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-25 17:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19750816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: Prompt 15 - Quote Prompt: “Insanity is relative. It depends on who has wholocked in what cage.” (Ray Bradbury) Use the quote however it inspires you,it does not need to be directly includedThe title of the work refers to me ... I am scraping the bottom of the old fic barrel. Apologies for the attempt at something that might resemble poetry if you look at it sideways.





	1. Chapter 1

"Have you seen a pair of bifocals down here?"

"You don't wear glasses."

"That does not answer my question."

"No. I have not seen a pair of bifocals. Whose glasses are we searching for?"

Sherlock hesitates for a second before answering, "Your mother."

"Wait, my mom was here and didn't tell me?"

"She came to see me." He continues searching. She follows him.

"Is she okay? Why would she come all the way here and not tell me? How did she get here? Was my dad with her? Surely she didn't drive ...."

He stops and stares, taking in her barrage of questions. "Yes, she is fine. Mary had a matter, a personal matter, which she wished to discuss with me. A Mrs. Lee, a friend, drove her and then came back for her. As to her reasons for not telling you, you will need to discuss that with her." Sherlock begins to walk out of the room.

"Wait! Sherlock! We tell each other everything. Tell me what's going on." Joan follows him out of the room, up the stairs and into the library. She stands before him, her face tense with worry. "Please... You know she isn’t well. The memory loss and confusion has worsened and I worry. " She stops and looks down. “I need to know she is alright.”

He takes a beat, and re-considers. "Mary is worried about you. Worried that you are not married and that when she is gone, no one will be left who loves you and looks out for you. I promised her that as long as I have breath in my being I will be beside you and will take care of you once she is gone.”

“Oh...” she says nothing else for fear of crying.

“I know you don’t need taking care but your mother is of an age where women were not safe alone... it made her feel better and in any case, I plan to be always here for you anyway.”

Joan wiped at the rebel tears that defied her control, “Thank you,” she whispered, “From both of us.”


	2. I don’t think I would call it sophism...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 10 - use of at least three words from the list provided. 
> 
> I went off to Ritchie-verse Holmes here for a change of pace.

I admit it freely. I love the man, like a brother of course, but he just might be the most irritating human being in all of London. When Sherlock Holmes is on a case, he is driven, full of energy, a wonder, a marvel and yes, somewhat annoying in his single-mindedness. But let the well of crime go dry and he becomes the most wretched and irritating of beings. Lethargic, rude, less than hygienic and most unpleasant company. 

I worry that he will succumb to the lure of his vices. I visit. I invite him out. I cajole. I bring him news about the latest goings on in an attempt to lift him from his self imposed hermitic misery. All for naught. 

It has now come to the point that my concern has been supplanted by anger. Selfish and willful, I believe he enjoys my fretting over his melancholic ways. And so tonight I bring an unexpected guest to call on 221B with me.

We take the flight of stairs quickly less our courage fail and find Sherlock sitting in his robe, in what I hope to be merely a tobacco induced torpor. There is little reaction at our entrance. Lestrade and I take a seat on either side of him. We begin our patter. 

“You should see the sky tonight, Mr. Holmes. Red as red can be.”

“Well you know what they say,” I chime in, “Red sky at night shepherds delight.”

“I believe the phrase is, ‘red sky at night sailors delight.’” Lestrade corrects me and we proceed to argue in minute detail the origins and evidence for the wording of the phrase for the next twenty minutes or so while Holmes sits between us with no observable reaction except for the clenching of his jaw in a steadily increasing pattern of agitation. 

“Doesn’t matter,” I say finally. “It’s summertime, and the living is easy.”

Lestrade leans in closer and commences to instruct Holmes and myself about the fallacy of that particular statement. We argue for another fifteen minutes until Holmes springs up from between us, tears off his robe and reaches for his hat and coat.

We watch as he bolts out the door and listen to his footsteps as he gallops downstairs and out the door.

“Thank you Detective,” I smile and extend my hand to Lestrade. 

“My pleasure doctor, my pleasure.”


	3. Al otro lado del rio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 11 - AU Holmes and Watson meet on the border
> 
> Written in English with the Spanish translation immediately below.

The alley was sufficiently dark and as clean as one can ask an alley in a border town to be. A quick look over her shoulder, and she ducked in, heading for the far side of the dumpster. All she sought was a little rest before continuing her trek. Placing her back against the metal of the bin, she lowered her head onto her bended knees and just for a moment or two closed her eyes and dropped her guard. 

“You’re a doctor.”

The whispered voice came from the darkness somewhere before her. Her head bobbed up, her eyes strove to adjust to the darkness. She made out a figure sitting a few paces ahead of her, his back against the dirty brick wall. She didn’t answer. Her hand curled into her pocket and around the handle of her knife. She waited. 

“A knife is it? Or a scalpel?” The voice whispered. “Either way, glad you are savvy enough to protect yourself.” She heard the scuffle of his feet and as her eyes fully adjusted, she saw him crawling closer to where she sat, plopping himself near her but not too close. “My name is Holmes, Sherlock Holmes.” He extended a hand to her, “And you are?”

The absurd formality allayed her fears momentarily and she allowed a brief handshake. “Watson, Dr. Juana Watson.”

“Pleasure. I must say you don’t seem the type to be doing this.”

“What is it you think I am doing?” She was intrigued. 

“Crossing the border illegally,” he whispered. “Seems like a doctor would have the money and connections to...”

Joan tensed. “I have no money. If you are a coyote you can just back off right now. I have nothing. I am doing this by myself.”

“As am I.... as am I. ... Who are you running from, doctor?” 

There was a quietness about the man, an intelligence and a logic that led her to trust. Perhaps it was a mistake but she answered. “Drug cartel. They targeted me for execution because I wouldn’t play their game....”

“... because you ratted them out to the local authorities.”

She inhaled sharply, “Who are you? How do you know so much?”

A small chuckle preceded his answer. “Funnily enough, I am a drug addict, a recovering drug addict. And a consulting detective. I am very good at observing and deducing. You are very easy to read.”

A few seconds of silence passed before he spoke again. “I have observed and calculated the route, the types and location of surveillance, and the schedules of patrol for agents on both sides of the border. I will attempt the crossing shortly after midnight tomorrow. You are welcome to come with me, Dr. Watson.”

(Spanish version below) ..... (with help from google translate)

El callejón estaba lo suficientemente oscuro y tan limpio como se puede pedir de un callejón en una ciudad fronteriza. Una rápida mirada por encima de su hombro, y ella se agachó, dirigiéndose hacia el otro lado del contenedor de basura. Todo lo que buscaba era un poco de descanso antes de continuar su viaje. Colocando su espalda contra el metal del recipiente, ella bajó la cabeza sobre sus rodillas dobladas y solo por un momento o dos cerró los ojos y bajó su guardia.

“Usted es una doctora."

La voz susurrada vino de la oscuridad en algún lugar delante de ella. Su cabeza se alzó, sus ojos se esforzaron por adaptarse a la oscuridad. Ella distinguió una figura sentada unos pasos por delante de ella, con la espalda apoyada en la pared de ladrillo sucio. Ella no respondió. Su mano se curvó en su bolsillo y alrededor del mango de su cuchillo. Ella esperó.

“¿Un cuchillo es? ¿O un escalpelo? —Susurró la voz. De cualquier manera, me alegro de que sea lo suficientemente inteligente como para protegerse. Escuchó la pelea de sus pies y cuando sus ojos se ajustaron por completo, lo vio acercarse más a donde estaba sentada, acercándose a ella, pero no demasiado cerca. "Mi nombre es Holmes, Sherlock Holmes". Él extendió una mano, "¿Y usted es?"

La absurda formalidad disipó sus temores momentáneamente y permitió un breve apretón de manos. "Watson, Dra. Juana Watson".

"Placer. Debo decir que usted no parece ser el tipo de persona que trata esto.”

"¿Qué es lo que crees que estoy haciendo?" Ella estaba intrigada.

"Cruzando la frontera ilegalmente", susurró. "Uno supone que un médico tendría el dinero y las conexiones para ..."

Joan se puso tensa. "No tengo dinero. Si eres un coyote, puedes retroceder ahora mismo. No tengo nada. Estoy haciendo esto solo ”.

"Como yo ... como yo ... ¿De quién está huyendo, doctora?"

Hubo un typo de silencio sobre el hombre, una inteligencia y una lógica que la llevaron a confiar. Tal vez fue un error pero ella respondió. "Cartel de droga. Me apuntaron para la ejecución porque no jugaría su juego ... "

"... porque los enviaste a las autoridades locales".

Ella inhaló bruscamente, "¿Quién eres? ¿Cómo sabes tanto?"

Una pequeña risita precedió a su respuesta. “Curiosamente, soy un drogadicto, un drogadicto en recuperación. Y un detective consultor. Mi trabajo es observando y deduciendo. Usted es muy fácil de leer."

Pasaron unos segundos de silencio antes de que él volviera a hablar. “He observado y calculado la ruta, los tipos y la ubicación de la vigilancia y los horarios de patrullaje de los agentes en ambos lados de la frontera. Intentaré el cruce poco después de la medianoche mañana. La invito a venir conmigo, Doctora Watson.


	4. Coerced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 12: In today’s work, make sure a woman is pivotal.

Through the foyer door‘s window, Joan saw Sherlock standing at the foot of the stairs. It looked like he was waiting for her but the minute she stepped inside he moved to the rack and grabbed his coat. "Ah, you're home," his weird half smile threw her.

"Where are you going, I thought we were going to review that old case of yours tonight."

"Sorry, I have an errand to run. Excuse me." Head ducked down, he zig and zagged determinedly around her and towards the door. "You have people waiting for you in the kitchen." And with that statement, he was out one door and headed for the next.

"Wait. What? What people?" The front door closed behind leaving Joan confused and irritated.

"People," she muttered to herself as she walked down the stairs into the kitchen. "I have people. Couldn't tell me what people..." She stopped talking to herself as she caught sight of the people who were waiting for her.

Lin, Ms. Hudson and Emily stood in the kitchen in a semicircle with uncomfortable smiles plastered on their faces. Joan stared. They stared. Joan smiled her own false smile back at them, "What are you guys doing here? You didn't tell me you were coming?" The three of them looked at each other and then Joan, hemming and hawing but saying nothing. Joan tried to lighten the mood, "Come on. What's going on? Is this some sort of intervention?" 

The smiles disappeared from the trio’s faces. Her sister spoke up, "Actually, yes, it is. Sort of is, an intervention, a little one, a fun intervention." 

Joan frowned at her sister and before she could say anything, Ms. Hudson chimed in. "We think you need to get out a little more, you know, dinner, movie, something fun...."

"I get out" Joan got defensive. "Sherlock and I go out to dinner several times a week. We ...."

"No, Joanie." Emily's turn. "You spend a hundred percent of your time with Sherlock .... which is fine, I mean, I know you two have a "special relationship." Her air quotes were followed by an aside to the other two friends, "... though none of us really understand it." Emily turned back to Joan, "But there is more fun to be had in life than reenacting crime scene photos in a back booth at Mama Leone’s until you’re asked to leave for upsetting the other diners."

Joan wondered how Emily knew about that. "Okay, I admit recreating the victim’s wounds with red sauce, bread sticks and spaghetti might have been offensive to some but ... it was fun!”

Ms. Hudson approached her. "All we're saying is perhaps you need a little variety in your fun. Like a girl's night out every once in a while. And hey, how about tonight? 

Joan looked concerned. "Did Sherlock put you up to this? Does he want me out of the house for some reason? He could have just told me? We tell each other everything ...."

"Forget about Sherlock!" Lin grabbed her sister by the elbow. "We made dinner reservations, we can talk and catch up and then there's a little nightclub that plays jazz afterwords that will be so much fun."

As the foursome waited for their cab outside the brownstone, Joan received a text: “Coerced. Complicity with their scheme my only option. Forgive me.”


	5. Master Sherlock Observes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 13 - Entries today should include a main character as a child.

Cook’s shrieks bounced off the kitchen tiles, found the duct work and enthusiastically jumped into every first floor room of the manor. 

Young Master Sherlock, almost eight, stood in the doorway and scribbled away. Upon hearing the rolling thunder of Nanny’s footsteps, he stepped into the kitchen. Grabbing the glass bottle from the table, he almost managed an escape before the meaty claw of Nanny Watkins took him by the scruff of his neck.

Dragged upstairs away from the mayhem he’d caused in the kitchen, Sherlock now stood before his judge and executioner. Small for his age, pale and blessed with big slate blue eyes, he presented to Nanny his best but ‘I am just a sweet young lad’ face.

She’d have none of it. “Give it to me.” Her voice was stern but calm. 

Reluctantly, he placed the small glass bottle in her hand. Nanny raised it to her eyes and squinted. “A bee? A dead bee? That’s what all the commotion was about?”

He shrugged as if to say he was as surprised as she was. The old woman studied him. “How did you know she was afraid of bees?”

With a look of barely contained pride in himself and in Nanny, he answered. “I observed and deduced. Then obviously had to prove my conclusion was correct. Just didn’t think anyone would be that afraid of bees.”

The look of disbelief and surprise on Sherlock’s face tickled Nanny but she remained a mountain of judgmental solemnity before the boy. “You will go to Cook and apologize.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He looked contrite enough she thought. Nanny meted out an appropriate punishment. “You will write out, neatly this time, a report of your observations, hypothesis, experiment and conclusion, and present it to me before bedtime, understood?”

Sherlock bobbed his head enthusiastically and ran out of the room, only to rush back in and take his bee in a bottle back from Nanny’s outstretched hand.


	6. Around and Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 14 - Choose one (or more) of the following musical  
> prompts to inspire you today!  
> The Beautiful Blue Danube.  
> The Demand of Man.  
> Scheherazade.
> 
> Warning: Fluff!!!

He stood in the doorway to her room.

“You could have been seriously hurt. Another blow to the head and you...”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, a habit he’d picked up from her, “Yes, yes, so you’ve said ad nauseam. But I wasn’t hurt and ...”

“But you could have been. You keep putting yourself in situations like that and sooner or later you will be hurt, irreparably hurt.”

Carried on from the night before, their argument was now 17 hours old and showed no signs of any sort of resolution. 

Joan sighed at his lack of response, and picked up the two gowns that lay on her bed. “Which one?” Remnants of her anger resonated in her tone. 

Sherlock studied both for a moment and chose, “The light sky blue silk.” He turned and walked away. 

The gala was a charity event. Joan’s foundation being among the honorees meant mandatory attendance for her and for her date. 

Joan had to admit that Sherlock, clean shaven and be-tuxed, looked dashing on her arm. Handsome and endearingly charming, even while quietly muttering rude observations about the other guests in her ear. 

And if asked, and even if not asked, Sherlock, declared Watson, without a doubt and without any sort of prejudice on his part, the most radiant of beings present. She was beautiful - warm and gracious and ethereal - an angel floating above the rest. He conceded to himself he might be ever so slightly biased though. 

The music started, the first few strands of a waltz, The Blue Danube. He looked at his partner and offered her his hand, “Will you dance with me, Watson?”

Her smile almost undid him but he kept calm as he guided her onto the dance floor and slid his hand around her silk-fitted waist. She laid one hand upon his shoulder, as he took her other hand in his. The music swelled and they joined in the dance. Her gown swirled round as they whirled joyously in time to the ancient waltz. Around and around, eyes locked onto each other, until everything faded except the music and being held in the arms of their partner. 

And when the music ended, he bent closer to her ear and whispered. “I’m sorry for worrying you, Watson. I’ll endeavor to take better care.” She held him tight to her, just for a second, and placed a fleeting kiss close to his ear.


	7. Desperate Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 15 - Quote Prompt: “Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who  
> locked in what cage.” (Ray Bradbury) Use the quote however it inspires you,  
> it does not need to be directly included 
> 
> The title of the work refers to me ... I am scraping the bottom of the old fic barrel. Apologies for the attempt at something that might resemble poetry if you look at it sideways.

Holmes sat on the roof  
On a day full of rain  
It was something that Watson  
Just couldn’t explain  
He’s soaked to the skin  
Ms. Hudson proclaimed  
He’ll probably be sick  
By the time he comes in

And when the sun shone  
Holmes quick ran inside  
And yelled for his partner  
He’s mad they all cried  
But Watson knew better  
“Yes, his methods are odd  
But really come on  
Just look at that bod!”

Alternative last line: His results all applaud!


End file.
